(Almost) Supermen

The Chargers celebrate 50 years in pro football

The Chargers, who kick off their 50th anniversary season Monday, have given San Diego an AFL championship. They've had stars named Bambi and LT and Fouts and J.J. And they've provided moments of pure joy (and pure anguish) while becoming part of the fabric of San Diego. Still, isn't there something missing?

On Sept. 17, 1961, the Chargers played their first home game in San Diego. They beat the Raiders 44-0 in Balboa Stadium. My dad took me there, and because he was a commercial fisherman — and hardly a man of monetary wealth — he didn't get the chance to take us many places. So you remember the special moments.

I still have the ticket. Somewhere. It's no doubt in a closeted box, next to my wife's ticket to the Beatles' concert, held on the same Balboa turf four years later. We know they're still around. Somewhere. That's good enough.

So, I can't help but crack up when people say I don't want to see the Chargers leave town because it would affect my work. If I lose my job, it's highly doubtful it will be because the franchise took a powder.

I'm a second-generation San Diegan, which means my kids are third-generation, which means my grandkids are fourth-generation. Thankfully, they all live here. We're San Diegans, get it?

And the Chargers, being nearly 50-year-old San Diegans, are a slice of our historic cake. I wouldn't want them to leave town any more than I'd like to see the Zoo move to City of Industry or the Hotel Del to San Antonio. We've recklessly destroyed enough history around here (see Balboa Stadium) because so many of Downtown's ham and eggers have no sense of it; they now can't see past the dollar sign they blindly ignored for so long.

The Chargers matter. Because of Sept. 17, 1961, and because of the 48 seasons, bad and good and heartwarming and heartwrenching that have come since. They are a part of our hope chest. You don't just throw away 50 years of memories. You don't just load 50 years into a Bekins truck and say it's OK, that they won't be missed.

Step out into the Qualcomm Stadium parking lot on game day and then tell me they won't be missed. Check out the Nielsen TV ratings and tell me they won't be missed. Watch how this city reacts when they have it going and tell me they won't be missed.

It's called civic pride, and we've lost enough of that lately without making things worse by allowing something terrible to happen that can be prevented.

Anyway, I'm on my soapbox for this 50-year derby. I've been an eyewitness. I've seen all the Chargers, from Barron Hilton and Lance Alworth and Paul Lowe and Ron Mix and Sid Gillman to the 1963 AFL championship to the NFL-AFL merger to Gene Klein and Harland Svare and the Nightmare Season to Dan Fouts and Kellen Winslow and JJ and Wes Chandler and Fred Dean and Chuck Muncie and James Brooks and Louie and Hands and Charlie Joiner and Moosie and Big Ed and Big Ru and Air Coryell to the Spanoses and Junior and Stan Humphries and the Bobbys (Beathard and Ross) to the bad drafts and Ryan Leaf and Kevin Gilbride to wonderful Mike Riley and his 1-15 to John Butler and A.J. Smith and Marty Schottenheimer and LT to LT and Philip Rivers and Lights Out and Norv Turner.